


My love for you is not a gift to you it is a gift to me

by OrangeFruits



Category: In the Flesh (TV)
Genre: Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, POV Second Person, Romance, Stream of Consciousness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-15
Updated: 2014-08-15
Packaged: 2018-02-13 07:56:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2143104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrangeFruits/pseuds/OrangeFruits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[He's brash like Rick, and charming.</p>
<p>He's scared like him, too, but not for the same reasons. Rick would have never accepted your kiss in the middle of the street.]</p>
<p>Any one notice that Kieren attracts a certain type of boy? The outspoken, shy kind? A comparison of his two loves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My love for you is not a gift to you it is a gift to me

When you first met Simon, you thought he was reckless.

Outspoken, dangerous-in danger, in a town like Roarton.

The closer you get to him-and you definitely get closer, in more ways than one-the more and more you realise he's at once Rick's opposite and Rick's double.

He's brash like Rick, and charming.

He's scared like him, too, but not for the same reasons. Rick would have never accepted your kiss in the middle of the street.

You made the first move with Rick too, fed up of loaded words and heavy glances.

Simon is fragile in a way that Rick wasn't, not just because of his open back. He's surprised every time you touch him, astonished by every kiss, like he can barely believe you're real, that you're his.

You feel his eyes on you every time you're in the same room, ghosting over your body, sometimes so intensely you feel profoundly grateful you don't have the blood to blush anymore.

The only times Rick looked at you like that was in secret, barricaded away from prying eyes. It didn't feel quite so _adult_ , either, when he did it. After all, you were only eighteen, clueless and terrified by this heavy thing called life. 

Now that you're dead, people's opinions and prejudice don't seem to matter as much. 

(Not that they did when you were alive-you weren't the only openly gay kid in this town by chance. Rick once breathed in your ear, White Lightning heavy on his word, that he wished he was brave like you. You laughed it off, putting his mouth back to yours, but the words swam round your head for weeks after he left, pounding back into your skull the moment you found his body, dead for the second and last time.)

 

So you hold Simon's hand, defiantly meet people's eyes when they stare- _gay rotters, in Roarton, of all places-_ and you smile politely, just like you did when the boys at school joked you were coming for them in the changing rooms, slapping your shoulder a little too hard, turning their heads from you a little too pointedly. 

At least you know who your enemies are, this time round. And your allies won't shy away from the confrontation-as the bullet hole on Simon's back proves, and you kiss your thanks every time you remember, even in public. 

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from Leonard Nimoy's 'If love can be'.


End file.
